Lainey’s List Chapter Thirty-Four
Lainey
Nick and I go back to my hotel and screw like rabbits. There are no more uncomfortable questions and no more evasive answers. We both agree—silently, because talking is fraught with problems—that if sex is all we have, we might as well give it our all.
And we have great sex. Nick is a generous lover. He declares that he could spend hours with his mouth between my legs. I reciprocate, of course, because Nick’s shaft is a glorious thing; soft and hard at the same time, thick and long and pulsing with life. Plus, when I have my mouth wrapped around him, I feel like I own him. Like I could say, “Go rope the moon, go sail the ocean, go quit football,” and he’d do it.
But I don’t ask any of those things because that’s not what it’s about between us.
It’s all purely physical. It’s hair pulling, headboard banging, toe curling but never touch-your-heart physical. So when he’s so deep inside me that I swear he’s touching my heart, I swallow all those sweet words and sink my teeth into his shoulder instead.
And maybe it’s the same for Nick because he spends a fair amount of time muffling his shouts in the pillow next to my head.
I don’t have anything to complain about. I get to run my fingers and tongue over his cut, ripped self. I get to twine my fingers through his as he thrusts into me deep and hard. A million women would give their left tit to be me.
I revel in the contrasts—the roughness of his thighs and the tenderness of his kiss; the bite of his fingers into my hips and the soft caress of his tongue along my collarbone. I close my eyes, even when he demands that I open them, so I can savor every touch, every sensation, until I’m so full of the pleasure, I die.
And then he brings me back to life.
Again and again, until I’m completely worn out. A shell of a human wrecked upon the shores of post-coital bliss.
Nick is the same. His chest heaves as he lies beside me. His entire body glistens with a sheen of sweat. The man puts as much energy into this as he does the game. And he’s a master of the game.
I reach out and grab his hand, telling myself that we can be friends and that this intimate connection I have with him is all I’ll ever need. It’s more than I ever imagined having. It’s the most I’ll let myself want.
In the morning, he’s gone.
The king bed seems cavernous without his body next to mine. On the nightstand is a piece of paper tucked under a cup of water.
I pull it out, barely noticing when the water spills onto the glass-topped surface, not realizing that my hand is trembling. Another slim rectangle falls from the paper.
This is yours, if you want it. I’d like to see you again. An away game seems like a good place to get together. I’ll text you my room number when we get to San Fran. Or you could hawk it. Probably worth a couple of bucks.
I lift the ticket up. Section 115, Row 24, Seat J. A seat like this? For the Mavs, who are riding a 6 game winning streak? It’d be worth a few hundred, if not more. I launch myself out of bed and prepare for home. Real life is here now. The fantasy night I shared with Nick is over. I tuck the ticket into my wallet. The game isn’t for two weeks.
I’ll decide later.
—————–
At home, everything’s the same. Grandmama is fussing over Mama, who can’t remember what day it is.
“You shouldn’t be playing those video games.” Mama tugs at my wrist in agitation. “Mami won’t like it.”
Mami and I share a look over my mother’s head. Grandma’s eyes are so sad. Mama’s forgetfulness, her illness, is hard on me but it’s so much harder on Grandma. But she’s a strong woman, so she straightens the blanket around Mama’s legs with her lips pressed tight so Mama doesn’t think anything is wrong. Then she walks over to the window and presses a hand against her back. The pain in her back isn’t from old age. It’s from grief.
“I know, Mama. I won’t play them anymore.” I lay a soothing hand over hers. The skin on her hand is hardly wrinkled. There aren’t any age spots. No real signs of decay there other than the thinness. Sometimes she’s so translucent, I feel like I can see straight through her.
“Good. I don’t want you to upset your Mami. Are you getting good grades? Staying away from the boys?”
Sort of. Is 50% a win? “Of course. All the boys are dingleberries.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” She coughs lightly. I wipe away a little blood, glad that Grandma has her back turned. “Wish I’d listened to Mami when she told me to stay away. I would’ve had a different life, you know? Maybe I wouldn’t have had you. Maybe I would’ve gone to college. Gotten a degree. My life would’ve been different.”
“Sure, Mama. I know. I’m going to be a good girl.” My heart absorbs the hit and slots it next to all the other zingers she sent my way when I was a girl.
“Good. Go get my remote. I wanna watch Days. Jack and Jennifer are my favorite couple, you know. I hate it when they’re separated.”
I nod and hand over the remote, flipping the channel to Days of Our Lives. The couple that Mama wants to see isn’t on the show anymore, but I hope she doesn’t notice.
After packing up the lunch tray, I head for the kitchen. I’ve a whole list of things to do for Charlotte, and I need to start earning my keep.
Grandma follows me in. “She doesn’t mean any of that.”
I busy myself with rinsing off the plates. “She’s never been more honest in her entire life.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“That may be true.”
“Don’t take it personal,” Grandma advises.
And that’s so easy, isn’t it? I drop my hand to the pocket where Nick’s ticket hides.
“Course not.” I finish putting away the dishes. “I have to go to California for work in a couple weeks. You going to be okay around here?”
Grandma’s eyes narrow. “What do you have going on in California?”
I launch into a big spiel about how Charlotte’s doing work out there. I have no idea if she is, but she might someday. I’m going, no matter how hard Grandma glares, because sometimes a girl has to have a bit of sunshine to make the gloomy days survivable.
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